


Panic! Attacks

by Izzygrace07



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Acrophobia, Airports, Alternate Universe - No Game, Carnival, Ferris Wheels, M/M, Meet and Greets, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Restaurants, Shopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: A collection of moments where Saihara has panic attacks.Yes, I just HAD to make a Panic! At The Disco reference in my story title.





	1. The Airport Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowds aren't really Saihara's thing, so what happens when he's suddenly bombarded by news reporters at an airport in Paris?

The flight going to France wasn't all that exciting, minus the intense turbulence and the lights burning out from technical errors at around seven in the morning. Other than that, it had been like any other flight. Even though he wasn't pop star status, Saihara still had the opportunity to travel the world thanks to his world-wide status as the Ultimate Detective, and was continuously being requested to work on cases. As exhausting as it was, however, he quite enjoyed being able to travel around the globe, especially since he was welcome to bring his three best friends along with him. Momota wouldn't shut up about seeing the space centers scattered around the country, and Amami was just excited to be able to do some sight-seeing. Ouma just wanted to spend time with the detective, thus Saihara promised him that they would stop and see the Eiffel Tower, no matter how cliché it would be to do so.  
Saihara let out a sigh of relief as he yanked his suitcase out of the collection of baggage at luggage claim. It felt nice to finally return to France. He had been in the same country, same airport, only two years ago. At the time, he was just beginning to accept international cases, and wasn't all that used to traveling. His anxiety would kick in every time they entered a plane, having severe aerophobia, and would have to be calmed by his trio of friends. He was getting better at handling being in the air now, just so long as he kept talking to someone.  
The case back then had been quite the crime. A homicide that had three girls nailed down to their beds, one girl with her eyes missing. On the wall, written in lipstick, it read, "I hear no evil, I see no evil. I hear no red, I see no read." It was a gruesome scene, one of the most terrifying Saihara had ever run into. After doing research and working with the police department in Paris, they discovered that the killer suffered from synesthesia, and was seeing the words of "evil people" in red. The girl who's eyes he had removed, Miette Lauchner, was someone who had, surprisingly, also suffered from the same disorder, only she could taste music. However, the killer didn't know this. The whole time he had thought, "She's like me. How could she deal with that? Nobody should have to see evil! Nobody else can have this power!" The other two girls? They were there by chance. If they hadn't been hanging out with Miette that day, they would have lived. It's unfortunate how the pieces fit into the puzzle sometimes.  
Saihara hadn't been told anything yet about the crime scene, only that there had been a home invasion that killed six: father, mother, grandmother, son, and two daughters. It was both horrifying and heartbreaking to realize how a whole family could be destroyed in such a short amount of time. What kind of person could live with themselves knowing that they had taken away the lives of so many people?  
Saihara shakes these thoughts out of his head and makes his way across the room and to the trio, who were sitting at a table in the middle of the small food court. Amami and Momota were playing cards, which was no longer a surprise to the detective, and Ouma stood over Momota's shoulder, staring at his hand intensely. A small pile of straws sat in the center of the game. Once there, Saihara stood his suitcase up straight and placed his duffel bag next to him, sitting down in a chair to watch the game.  
"I raise you three coffee straws," Momota says, pushing a few into the middle of the table. Ouma gives Momota a skeptical look.  
"Really? You're gonna raise that high with a pair of twos?"  
Momota leans back in his chair and half-punches the supreme leader in the hip. "Dude, what the hell?!"  
Amami only chuckles. "Well, if that's the case..." He pushes his entire pile of straws to the middle. "All in."  
"Fuck," Momota mumbles sadly. His straws join the rest, leaving a mess of colors in the center, almost like an abstract centerpiece. "Whatcha got?"  
Amami flips his cards over. "Four of a kind. Eights."  
Momota sighs. "Son of a bitch." He turns around and glares at Ouma. "Thanks a lot, you dick. Because of you, I just..." Suddenly he spins around and slams his cards face-up on the table, revealing a flush. "...won the game! Flush! King, queen, jack, ten, nine!"  
Saihara laughs at the excitement radiating from the astronaut. "Way to hustle him," he says as his friend scoops up the straws. "Now, are you going to return those? We need to head to the hotel."  
"Well," he says, shoving the pile toward Amami, "he lost, so..."  
After a few minutes of waiting for Amami to return the straws to where they previously were, he joins back up with the group, and they walk out of the gate, talking about whatever pops into their heads as they journey on. However, that journey is screeched to a halt when Saihara hears someone yelling.  
"It's him! The detective! Shuuichi!"  
Saihara pauses, confused at the sudden mention of his given name. It takes him a moment to remember that it's common to refer to others by first name in other countries. Once that confusion is settled, he looks around, trying to find the source of the yelling. Before he can even trace who was speaking to him, however, he is bombarded with flashes. All around him, people are holding cameras, presenting microphones, and yelling questions in his direction. Since when is he so famous?  
It's hard for him to understand what people are saying, but he can make out a few clear words:  
"Home invasion..."  
"Investigation..."  
"Work with the police..."  
"Discoveries so far..."  
That's all. They just want to know about the home invasion he's going to be investigating in Paris.  
A girl runs up to him, her golden-blonde hair trailing behind her as she parks herself at Saihara's side, grasping his hand with both of her own. She has a notepad tucked under one arm and a pencil perched on her ear. She looks like a princess with the way her fair skin and cherry-red lips make her stand out in the crowd. "Shuuichi! I'm a reporter working for the city's best-selling magazine, and we want to know if we can ask you a few questions regarding the murder of one of our citizens and his family."  
Saihara bites his lip, feeling uncomfortable with the fact that this stranger is touching him in such an intimate manner. What was he supposed to do? Pull away? Let her continue holding his hand like this? Was this a French custom he wasn't aware of the last time he visited?  
He turns around and glances at his friends over his shoulder, who all are displaying different emotions on their faces. Momota is annoyed, Amami appears to be fine, and Ouma seems like he is worried, maybe even afraid. The detective raises his eyebrows nervously, hunting for their approval. Amami nods his head, mouthing, "We can wait." Momota nods, although he appears to hesitate before doing so. Ouma, however, stares at Saihara with desperate eyes. _He must be getting anxious with all of these people showing up so suddenly_ , Saihara thinks. _We need to get out of here._  
He turns back to the girl grasping his hand. The police had given him permission when hiring him to tell the news and other reporters about things he knew about the case, so this shouldn't be a problem just so long as he tells them the truth. "Yes, as long as we can walk while you do so."  
A bright smile stretches across the female reporter's face. She lets go of Saihara's hand and pulls the pencil from her ear, the tip hovering over a page of questions. "Let's go!"  
As soon as he, the trio, and this girl start walking, the crowd follows. The detective is forced to squint his eyes to see past the flashing lights of the cameras. A small bit of guilt enters his body every time he bats away a microphone that is pressing against his shoulder or the back of his head. He gets that these reporters are just trying to do their job, and he can respect that, but Ouma's wellness is far more important to him at the moment. Bystanders who are waiting in line to buy their plane tickets shoot him disgusted and agitated looks as he walks by them. He feels bad for these people, honestly. Airports are stressful enough without having a mob of paparazzi waltz around with fancy equipment and loud voices.  
"I'm Sonia Nevermind, leading reporter for Paris Park Magazine, by the way," the blonde girl informs him, bumping into him as she is jostled around by the possy. He trips on the foot of a reporter in front of him, apologizing to her as they continue walking. "So, what can you tell us about the case so far?"  
"It's a home invasion in Paris," he replies, "and there were six victims, all family members living under the roof: Mr. Edward Lesting, Mrs. Maria Lesting, their children, Penelope, Xavier, and Francis, and Mrs. Lesting's mother, Felicity Tarbox."  
As soon as the question is answered, the voices around him raise, the reporters begging for more information to feed their audience's with. "Can you tell us anything else?" "Anything else you can add?" Question after question is shouted in his face, the words trying to fight for his attention.  
Saihara feels himself beginning to sweat, despite the cold winter temperatures and the chilly airport they are making their way through. He knows this feeling of nervousness all too well. He is once again asked if he can answer any more questions. "Y-Yes, I can, as long as we keep moving. People are trying to get through."  
He suddenly sees his three best friends next to him, looking him up and down with concerned faces. Ouma asks him if he is alright, only for Saihara to nod and tell the supreme leader that everything is fine, trying to believe the words himself. _I can make it out the door_. Everything is fine. He trips over his baggage as a reporter bumps into him from behind, and Ouma grabs his shoulder to keep him from falling to the floor.  
"How long ago did the Lesting family pass?" the reporter, Sonia, asks.  
"The family was killed on Saturday at roughly one fifteen in the morning, no more than forty-eight hours ago." Saihara quickly answers, struggling to stay on his feet. More shouting ensues, along with more microphones being thrusted in his direction, more cameras in his face, and more feelings of anxiousness entering his body. He feels his lungs tighten, and he lets out a few heavy breaths, struggling to take in any oxygen. "I-I'm sorry, but can I have some space? I can't breathe."  
Nobody seems to hear his request, the words being lost in the storm-filled sea of "tell us more about the case". He trips once again, not on his suitcase, but on the feet of a male cameraman next to him, one who is shoving his camera into the detective's face. Saihara moves away as much as he can, softly apologizing, only to bump into Sonia, who he also says he is sorry to. She shrugs it off and asks another question that he can't hear.  
"Hey, are you listening?" She shouts in his ear, tapping his shoulder with her pencil to get his attention.  
"Huh? O-Oh, I'm sorry."  
Sonia laughs. "It's okay. So, how was the family killed?"  
Everyone leans in, hoping to hear the answer, as if he's about to reveal who won the Oscars. Saihara instantly wishes he could shrink down, disappear, and reappear in the hotel. It would probably be much calmer over there, no paparazzi or reporters or shoving or yelling.  
"Mr. Lesting was, um... H-He was..." His brain pauses. He can't answer that question. He doesn't know how they died, since he hasn't done any investigating yet. If he answers, he'll be lying, and he can't do that, especially if he's one of the people working the case. How could he possibly know how they were killed?  
The pause seems to build up suspense, which makes the paparazzi go wild, yelling out demands for the answer to the question that had been thrown out. Instead of answering, however, Saihara replies, "I-I'm sorry, but I... I cannot answer that question now..."  
The crowd roared like a den of lions. That was most definitely _not_ what they wanted to hear from the detective. He feels someone reach for his wrist, trying to pull him in for good camera shot, only for Sonia to yank him back toward her, rambling off another question for him to answer. This time, he doesn't answer. He instead takes in an uneasy breath.  
"G-Guys, can you please...give me a little room?" Saihara asks again, ignoring the blonde reporter next to him who was jabbing him in the side with the tip of her pencil. "I... I’m feeling really overwhelmed right now, and...and I can't breathe..."  
Once again, no one pays any mind to his pleas. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Momota. He had forgotten that his friends were walking with him in all this chaos.  
"Bro, are you okay?" Momota yells over the crowd. "You look really pale, more than usual."  
"I'm..." He stops himself, shaking his head. Momota hadn't heard his request either. There was no way he was going to cause more trouble for his friends. "I'm fine. I can make it out the door. We're less than a hundred yards away."  
As he finishes his sentence, a tall gentleman dressed in black leather clothing and chains walks right through the crowd, his large and muscular body ramming against Saihara's own frail person. The impact sends the detective falling against Momota, who moves him closer in hopes of getting him out of the way of the man until he is through the party.  
"Can't you guys stop being rock stars for five fucking minutes?!" the person yells at them from outside the mob, his voice deep and manly. He flips them off as he says, "People have enough stress without you assholes walking around!" Saihara stumbles on his luggage as an unintentional response, too busy trying to remain calm to reply to the man. A few seconds later, he repeats his misstep, only this time falling over someone's feet.  
Momota helps Saihara stand back upright, taking his suitcase and duffel bag away from him. He hands the suitcase to Amami, who is not-as-calmly walking with the crowd, his eye slightly twitching in annoyance at the behavior of the paparazzi. Momota then says something about making it easier for the detective to walk, which can barely be heard over all shouting. Although Saihara hears it, he pays little mind to the words, not even being able to thank his friend. He instead begins hyperventilating, trying to take in any air he possibly can.  
"P-Please, can everyone...calm down?" He begs between breaths, stumbling on air as he tries to ignore the lightheaded feeling entering his veins. His hands begin shaking, and the rest of his body is quick to follow suit. "I-I... I can't...breathe...!"  
Nothing. It's all "tell us more" this and "tell us more" that. "How did they die" this and "what was used to kill them" that. Saihara feels anxious tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he begins panicking. Has it been a hundred yards yet? Why does it feel so much longer? Why does it feel like they've been walking for years? The world feels like a hell, a hell that only Saihara can see. There's no escape, no way out, no chance to survive. He's going to die in this hell, no matter how fast he runs away.  
That doesn't mean his instinct will keep him from trying.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Saihara ends up in the men's bathroom, his hands grasping the seat of a toilet while his head hangs heavily over the bowl, gasping for the air that he can't feel himself breathing. Nausea moves through him as if someone is flipping a light switch, a battle of trying not to be sick versus calming himself down. Tears stream down his face violently, his body trembling as he backpedals out of the stall, leaning against the wall of the empty bathroom. He pulls his knees close to his chest, dropping his head into his arms as he silently sobs. Why is the world so terrifying? Why are people so selfish when it comes to the feelings of others?  
Why couldn't the reporters just _give him a little space?_  
Saihara felt bad for the people in the airport, and even for some of the paparazzi. His brain had taken control of his body and forced him to break through the crowd. He could hear Momota, Ouma, and Amami shout his name as he took off with terrified tears falling down his face, fighting through the mob for freedom. As soon as he was out of the demonic circle he had been prisoner in, he ran and ran and ran, not stopping to apologize to any of the pedestrians he rammed into along the way. He basically collapsed to the floor once he made it to the restrooms, thanking the Lord that nobody else was in there when he came tumbling through the door. He immediately fell in front of one of the toilets, just in case he got hysterical to the point of vomiting.  
Now here the detective sat, crying like a child.  
The bathroom door creaks open, breaking the silence that Saihara had allowed himself to be engulfed in. He doesn't turn to look at who has entered, knowing who it is instantly. One of them shushes the other two who are talking to each other in nervous tones. Saihara can see the three of them standing together in a pack, all eyeballing him with sympathetic expressions on their faces. Soon, they are all sitting next to him, two of them on his left, one on his right. The room falls into silence for a few uneventful moments, the only sound being Saihara's sniffling, until the quietude is shattered by the one sitting to the right of him.  
"Saihara-chan, are you alright?" Ouma asks. Saihara doesn't look up at him, afraid to see what kind of face he is wearing. Plus, he is far too embarrassed to meet his best friend's eyes. He had read their situation entirely wrong from the beginning.  
"The way you looked at me before we started walking," Saihara says in between shaky breathes. "I noticed the worry in your eyes. I thought you were nervous about all of the people showing up."  
He sees Ouma shake his head. "No, that's not it. Sure, the crowd kind of freaked me out at first, but I wasn't worried about myself all that much." Saihara suddenly feels a hand on his, the warmth sending a relaxing feeling into his body. "I was worrying about you, Saihara-chan."  
"We all were," Amami adds, placing a hand on Saihara's shoulder. "We know that you don't do well with crowds, and with the way they were crowding you, I knew it was going to get bad."  
"Yeah," Momota agrees. "I took your stuff from you to help you walk, and I was hoping it would make you feel like you had more room. I heard you say after that you couldn't breathe, and... you took off."  
"You should have heard Momota-kun," Ouma says, a hint of laughter in his voice. "He was really pissed off at the paparazzi, telling them that they need to learn to respect peoples' personal space and listen to when they ask you to leave. It was pretty cool, honestly."  
Saihara slowly raises his head and sees that all three of the guys are looking at him with warm faces. He knew they genuinely felt sorry from him, and they wanted him to feel better. That just made him feel even more guilty than before.  
"I'm sorry," he breathes out, leaning his head back against the wall.  
"Sorry?" Amami asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "What for? You looked at us for advice in what to do, and I told you to answer their questions."  
Momota nods his head in agreement. "And I agreed with him, told ya to do it. It's us who should be apologizing to you, Shuuichi-kun."  
A small smile makes its way onto Saihara's face. At that moment, he could tell that he had found the perfect friends. They truly cared about him, even if he sometimes thought otherwise. They were amazing in every possible way, even with their flaws.  
"Way to start our vacation in Paris, huh?" he weakly laughs, wiping a few of the lingering tears from his eyes. "What's next? Getting hit by a bus?"  
Ouma laughs. "Hey, don't jinx us." The grip around Saihara's hand tightens, and he feels Ouma's thumb rubbing against the surface of his skin, allowing for him to feel both comfort and tranquility, two things he needed to feel in that moment. "In all seriousness, don't worry about it. Things like this happen, okay? We'll make it through them together, just like we always do."  
Saihara nods, unaware of flush that covers his face. "Yeah. Just like we always do."  
Momota stands up and stretches out his arms above his head. "Just remember that we all have our problems Shuuichi. You have your anxiety, Amami has his trust issues, Ouma has his impulsiveness, and I have my post-traumatic whatchamacallit. We don't like these things, of course, but we can all get through them together as a team."  
Amami gets up and dusts himself off. "Yeah. If you're feeling anxious, don't feel like you should lie to us about it. We’re here for you, okay? We may not seem like we always are, but we are.”  
Ouma joins the two and offers his hand to Saihara. “We’re here for you. And if they ever aren’t, I am, and always will be.”  
Saihara takes the supreme leader’s hand blushingly, chuckling softly as he hears Momota exclaim, “Wait, what do you mean if we aren’t there, you asshole!”  
Yeah, he _definitely_ found the right best friends.


	2. The Shopping Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a simple task: just go out to the local store and get another six-pack of Panta and some popcorn for movie night. How hard could that possibly be?

It was a simple task: just go out to the local store and get another six-pack of Panta and some popcorn for movie night. How hard could that possibly be?  
Well, to most people, this task would be considered easy, but not to Saihara. Going out and being around these people, being expected to do everything perfectly without error, is terrifying for the detective. He already has to deal with that kind of stress at his work, and it's even worse in public. Maybe that's why Ouma is starting to feel anxious after an hour of his friend being gone.  
Ouma paces back and forth through the kitchen while fixing his gaze on the oak-wood floor, past the table that Momota and Amami sit at. One, two. One, two. One, two.  
Momota glances up from his and Amami's card game and raises a curious eyebrow. "Hey, what're you pacing for?"  
Ouma looks up and sighs, continuing to walk in circles nervously. One, two. One, two. One, two. "I'm worried about Saihara-chan. It's been an hour since he left, and all he had to do was pick up some Panta and popcorn. Do you think he's okay?"  
"I'm sure he's fine," Momota says, placing his cards down face-up on the table. "Full house. Jacks over sixes."  
Amami gives him a teasing smile. "How'd you pull that off?"  
"Luck is a skill," the astronaut replies. He reaches a hand toward the small pile of mixed chocolate chips that had formed in the center of the table, only for Amami to bat it away.  
"Not so fast," Amami interrupts his mini celebration, laying out his cards on the table. "I also have a full house. Queens over sixes."  
Momota's jaw drops. "How the hell did you do that?!"  
Amami leans back in his chair as he scoops the pile of chocolate toward his side. "I believe your words were, "Luck is a skill," I am right?"  
Ouma sighs. "Guys, should I be worrying or not?"  
"Worrying about what?" Amami questions, sorting out his win. Ouma growls and throws his hands up, frustration rushing through his body.  
"Worrying about Saihara-chan!" Ouma shouts in aggravation. He wants to get mad, curse himself for letting the detective go alone, until he remembers the Saihara volunteered to go, trying to prove that he can do this on his own. "He's been gone for over an hour!"  
"Look," Momota groans as he spins around in his chair. He rests an elbow on the back of the wooden frame and stares at the supreme leader. "Shuuichi-kun is basically an adult. He's probably getting more than we asked for, just so we won't have to do it later."  
Amami shakes his head, handing out the next hand to both him and Momota. "I wouldn't be so sure. Remember, Saihara-kun is one to suffer from anxiety." He looks up as he picks up his cards. "If I were to make a guess, I'd believe that he's panicking as we speak. I raise you 5 white chocolates."  
That's enough to convince Ouma to get into his car and drive to the store in search for his friend. The whole way there, Ouma tries to convince himself that everything is fine. He's okay, he says aloud, hoping it will help him believe so. He's just fine.  
When he gets to the store, Ouma leaps out of the car and books it into the building. The doors slide open, welcoming him inside happily, almost in a mocking manner. Thousands of scents waft into his nose in only a few seconds, and the sounds of chattering and relaxing music enter his ears. If he wasn't in such a panic to find Saihara, he would probably enjoy the atmosphere a little bit. That could wait.  
After going through aisle after aisle, he suddenly hears the sound of shattering glass in the next row. Only when he hears a sharp gasp and an almost whispered "damn it" does he find Saihara. Ouma quickly makes his way to the next aisle and instantly notices red water spreading across the floor, shards of glass scattering throughout the substance. Upon further inspection, he sees cherries in the mix. When he looks back up, he sees Saihara petrified, his hands shaking wildly in front of him. His legs are locked. His eyes are wide and struck with fear. His lips are parted, as if he wants to speak, but can't possibly do so.  
The supreme leader makes his way around the mess and to his friend, placing his hand gently on Saihara's back, to which the detective flinches. He's trembling. "Hey, hey, Saihara-chan, it's me." With how close Ouma was, he could see Saihara's chest heaving through his shirt, hyperventilating. Saihara looks up at him, tears forming in his eyes, terrified.  
Saihara grasps onto his friend's wrists loosely. "Ouma, I-." he starts.  
"I know," Ouma whispers so Saihara doesn't have to pant. "Go out to my car, okay? I'll be there in a few minutes."  
Saihara hesitates, looking off into the distance behind Ouma, before mumbling, "Okay. Thank you... I'm so sorry."  
"It's okay, it's okay."  
Saihara lowers his hat and buries his hands into his pockets as he basically runs out of the store, head directed to the floor. Ouma feels bad for him, and even more guilty that he can't do any more to calm him down. After a minute, a store employee comes by to clean up the mess, Ouma apologizing to the worker for "being so clumsy." He pays for the cherries, along with the other things that Saihara had gathered, and goes out into the parking lot.  
He finds Saihara in the passenger seat of his car, and can see Saihara's a few parking spots away. Tears are streaming down his face uncontrollably, and he's shaking horribly. After putting the food away, Ouma quietly gets into the car and sits down next to Saihara. "Hey, you're okay Saihara-chan."  
Saihara shakes his head, inhaling heavily. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry."  
"It's okay, Saihara-chan. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't have to come here and do this. I would've done it for you, even with you if you had asked me."  
"It's stupid," Saihara says. "Shouldn't I be able to do something that other people can do so easily? I should, but I just can't. I don't know. I just-" His breathes come out too fast for him to continue making normal sentences, and Ouma reaches over and places a comforting hand on the detective's own.  
"You can't help it Saihara-chan. It's okay."  
"I hate it. I hate how I can't do something so basic to other people, and how I just can't get it right, no matter how hard I try to." He takes a breath. "If I can't even handle going shopping, then how will I be able to do anything else? I'm a mess."  
"You haven't done anything wrong Saihara-chan," Ouma insists, rubbing his thumb across Saihara's skin. "You're perfect, just the way you are, okay?"  
Saihara sighs. "I feel weak and like everything is out of my control. I don't know what to do." He rubs his arm shyly, not calmed down one bit.  
"Everything is okay. You're alright." Ouma holds a hand out to Saihara, and he hesitates before taking it. "Look at me."  
Saihara looks up and focuses on Ouma's eyes, and they just stare at each other for a few moments. "I'm embarrassed," he exhales, breaking the silence.  
"You don't need to be."  
"I feel like..."  
"Like what?"  
"I feel like whenever I go out, I'm being watched and pressured by someone." His hand begins shaking. "I feel like someone's going to start shouting at me if I do even one thing wrong, and it makes me really stressed. I don't know. I just want to cry, and I can't breathe, and I can't move, and I can't think."  
"It's okay now. You don't have to think about it."  
His breathing is still way too fast, and his shoulders are tense. He chokes on a sob, and looks down at Ouma's hand in his own. "I'm sorry," he says again.  
"It's okay," Ouma whispers. He leans in toward Saihara and rests a hand over on his shoulder, afraid to go any further. Saihara reaches up and takes the hand off his shoulder, intertwining his fingers with Ouma, not saying another word. Ouma knows that the worst of the anxiety attack has yet to come, that it is only getting to its worst point when Saihara falls quiet and does nothing more than sob. When that happens, Ouma attempts to do things to overthrow Saihara's mind, but is unsure if they work. He thumbs over Saihara's hands, for the first time unsure of what to do.  
Ouma tries to get Saihara's attention so that Saihara can focus on something else, see if that would help him find tranquility. However, Saihara doesn't acknowledge it when Ouma speaks his name, keeping his head down and his eyes glued to the floor. "I'm here. I'm here for you. Even if you don't believe I am, I really am," Ouma says. He knows every one of Saihara's insecurities, and Saihara had once said that he was afraid that his anxiety attacks would chase him, Momota, and Amami away. Whenever one happens, Ouma does whatever he possibly can to tell him otherwise without having to wrap his arms around him - he doesn't want Saihara to feel confined, to make the suffocating feeling even worse than it already is.  
After a while of Ouma murmuring his support to Saihara, Saihara lets out a long, shaky breath, and squeezes Ouma's hand. Ouma squeezes back. "I think...I think I'm good," he whispers, his voice cracking.  
"That's great."  
Saihara calms down gradually, and Ouma lets go of his hand so he can start the car. They'd come back later to get Saihara's, once he felt well enough to drive.  
"Thank you, Ouma," he says. "You know, for being here with me."  
Ouma glances over at Saihara as he sets the car in reverse. "Of course. Why wouldn’t I be here for you?" he questions. He's about to say something, but pauses before the words can come out. Now wouldn't be a good time, he says to himself. Instead, he smiles, and mumbles through hidden distress, "I mean, we're best friends, aren't we?"


	3. The Ferris Wheel Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're not scared of Ferris Wheels, you don't mind if I rock the cart a little, do you?
> 
> -Prompt by my best friend

"It'll be only a few hours dude!" Momota insists, crossing his arms with aggravation. "What's the big deal?"  
"It's not a big deal," Saihara sighs, shaking his head. "I just don't want to go."  
This argument isn't going anywhere. Then again, they tend to stay in place anytime Momota is involved. Not even five minutes ago, Momota had the oh-so bright idea to take the group out for the day for bonding or something. "Closer relationships", or something along those lines. Now he was trying to persuade the detective into going, but he doesn't seem to know how to take "no" for an answer.  
"Come on man," Momota practically begs. "It'll be fun!"  
"I'm not going to a carnival Momota-kun," Saihara repeats, "and don't try to convince me otherwise. I have a lot of work to do, and I'm really behind on my case files."  
"Which is why you should go out and relieve the stress of having so many files!" Momota concludes, smiling proudly.  
Saihara drops his head into his hand, his elbow keeping his head from falling onto the table. He shakes his head with annoyance. This always seems to happen, no matter the subject. No matter what, it always seems that Momota's reasoning is correct, despite the fact that there is always something that can argue against his logic.  
"Please?" Momota asks. When Saihara doesn't reply, he leans closer to the detective's ear. "Please? Please? Please? Please? Plea-"  
"Momota-kun." Saihara slowly lifts his head, leaning back in his chair. "Knock it off."  
Silence.  
"...Please?"  
Saihara groans. "Momota-kun!"  
"What's going on?" Amami asks as he enters the kitchen, sitting down at one of the seats with a pack of playing cards. Ouma follows behind soon after, parking in the seat right next to Saihara.  
"I'm trying to tell Shuuichi-kun that having us all go to the carnival today would be fun!" Momota exclaims.  
Amami folds his arms with an unimpressed expression. "Since when are we going to the carnival today? I thought we were gonna play cards." Momota shrugs apologetically, though his expression makes it seem like he isn't sorry in the slightest.  
"I don't see a problem with it," Ouma says, breaking the tension between Amami and Momota. "It sounds like fun!"  
"It would be," Saihara says with a sigh, "if I wasn't so busy."  
"Take a break," the supreme leader suggests. "You shouldn't be stressing out so much. It can't possibly be good for you, you know?"  
Momota looks at Amami with pleading eyes. "Come on, man. It'll be fun! We can just hang out and eat and be around people. Don't you like all that social stuff?"  
"Alright, fine. I'm in."  
Momota smiles in triumph and returns his gaze to Saihara, his toughest obstacle. "So, what do you say Shuuichi-kun?"  
Saihara's face pales. "I, um, already told you. I'm busy with work today."  
Momota internally screams. He's so close to reaching his goal. "Shuuichi-kun, how can you be such a dedicated introvert? Try being an extrovert, just for one day."  
Saihara's eyes narrow. He knows very well that Momota is trying to use his self-consciousness against him. Of course the detective doesn't want to be someone who never goes out to see people, but the carnival? No way.  
"Momota-kun, I'm staying behind to work."  
As a look of defeat crosses Momota's face, Amami steps in. "We can go without Saihara-kun, can't we?"  
"No way!" Ouma inputs. "It won't be the same without him! He has to come with us! All four of us have to go together, meaning you have to come with us Saihara-chan. These two could ditch and I'd be fine with it, but I can't let you stay behind."  
Saihara makes another displeased expression as Amami and Momota glance at each other, trying to comprehend if they've just been compared to Saihara in closeness and lost horribly.  
"Think about it dude," Momota goes on. "The view from the Ferris Wheel! That would be sick! You have to be there to see it with us!"  
Saihara shakes his head with defiance. Suddenly, like the flip of a switch, a spark goes off in Amami's head, a lost memory making it's way back home in his head. "Hey, I think I know the reason why Saihara-kun doesn't want to go with us. The real reason." He chuckles at the memory as the others turn to face him with curious faces.  
"What is it?" Ouma asks.  
"I-It's nothing," Saihara says defensively.  
"It's because of the Ferris Wheel," Amami answers, "and you know it Saihara-kun."  
Saihara's face burns bright red. "W-What are you talking about?!" he stutters. "I could care less about the Ferris Wheel! I just have a lot of work to do!" Despite saying this, however, he has a worried expression on his face.  
Ouma notices and turns back to face Amami. "Please, tell us more."  
Amami keeps a steady look on his face as he goes on to explain, looking back and forth at Ouma and Momota as to avoid Saihara's deadly glare. "I believe it was back in fifth year. We were...about 10, I want to say. Yeah, that sounds right. Elementary school. So, the carnival was in town over the summer, and Saihara-kun had never been before, so I took him to it with my family. When we got there, I took him on the Ferris Wheel, telling Saihara-kun how fun it was going to be. I really got his hopes up."  
Saihara frowns.  
"Anyways, we get on the Ferris Wheel and Saihara-kun looks kinda nervous, and he's a little panicky, but he's still fine. He's fine on the way to the top of the Ferris Wheel, but when we get to the top, instead of pausing, it fully stops. We're fine, but Saihara-kun's freaking out, and he wants to know what is going on. I tell him that this happens sometimes and that they're probably just dealing with some disrespectful riders, but eventually someone yells up to us that there are technical issues and we'll be up there for a while. Saihara-kun just loses it. He's trembling and saying that we're gonna die, and that the cart will fall, and I'm trying to calm him down but he's not listening. Eventually he passes out from crying so much, and I'm about to fall asleep too. But then the Ferris Wheel finally starts moving again, and that wakes Saihara-kun up. When he remembers where we are, he starts sobbing. Once we reach the bottom and the man apologizes, Saihara runs to the closest trash can and he throws up. After that, he goes home and we don't talk for about a week."  
Saihara's red face turns even darker than before. "I wasn't that bad, was I? I didn't really cry the entire time."  
Amami nods. "Totally. Only about 99% of it."  
Ouma laughs hysterically until he's almost crying himself, and even Momota can't help but laugh a little at Amami's anecdote. Saihara sinks a little into his chair.  
"Guys, it's really not because of the Ferris Wheel. That was a long time ago, okay? I'm over the incident."  
Momota looks at him skeptically. "Really now?"  
"Yeah, really," Saihara defends.  
Momota sighs, seeming to accept it. "It's okay Shuuichi-kun. You don't have to is go. You can stay here. I know how scared you are of the Ferris Wheel."  
Saihara groans. "It's not because of the Ferris Wheel!"  
Despite his arguments, Momota shakes his head in disappointment. "Man, you can't even admit it? That's sad dude. It's okay though. You can stay here and I'll just take Ouma-kun and Amami-kun with me. No hard feelings, yeah?"  
"You know what?" Saihara says frustatedly. "I'm going with you guys, and I'm going to have fun because I don't care about some stupid Ferris Wheel incident that happened years ago. I'm ready to go whenever you guys are."  
Momota suddenly jumps up and punches the sky in victory. "Yes! This is gonna be awesome! Be in the car in twenty minutes!" With that, Momota takes off toward the stairs, heading to his room to change clothes.  
Saihara freezes, realizing how easily Momota had tricked him. Amami and Ouma chuckle at Momota's reverse psychology. "Damn it," Saihara mutters.  
Within half an hour, the gang is walking through the thin crowd of pedestrians at the summer carnival. It takes less than five minutes for the entire whole of them to be completely distracted by the foreign surroundings. Well, all except for the nervous detective himself, who can't stop scratching at his wrist.  
"Well, now that we know that Shuuichi-kun isn't afraid of the Ferris Wheel, we should ride it first!" Momota suggests, placing his hands on his hips as he strikes a triumphant pose.  
Amami rolls his eyes at the astronaut, clearly seeing through his plans. "Sounds like fun."  
Once they are waiting in line under the giant ride, Ouma starts making seating arrangements. "I'll ride with Saihara-chan, and Momota-kun and Amami-kun can ride together."  
"Hell no!" Momota argues, grabbing Saihara's arm and yanking the small boy closer. "He's riding with me!"  
Saihara raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you want me to be your partner in something?"  
"Since I don't believe in your whole "I'm not afraid" story," Momota replies. "I need proof, you know?"  
Saihara pulls himself away from Momota, a look of irritation on the detective's face. "I'm riding with Ouma-kun." Ouma's expression lights up, while Momota simply shrugs the argument off.  
"Suit yourself."  
After a short wait in line, a tired employee sits Saihara and Ouma down, locking the safety bar into place. Saihara shifts away from Ouma, afraid to show any signs of fear while terrified butterflies begin forming in his stomach. He tries to ignore it as the ride begins spinning, and the pair begin their ascent to the top. Ouma can see Saihara shifting restlessly out of the corner of his eye, and takes a second to appreciate the way the light breeze flutters Saihara's hair.  
Eventually they reach the top of the ride, the entire carnival and more visible from their position at the climax of the Ferris Wheel. Ouma turns to look at Saihara, who has frozen.  
"Wow, look at that view!" Ouma says excitedly. "Everyone looks like little ants down there!" As he speaks, he leans forward, the cart tilting to compensate for his weight.  
Saihara yelps in fear and leans back, trying to shift the balance back to normal. "Don't do that!"  
Ouma raises his eyebrows curiously, a mischivous smile crossing his face. "I thought you weren't afraid of Ferris Wheels anymore?"  
"I-I'm not!" Saihara insists, the anxiety wavering in his voice as he speaks.  
"Hm." Ouma huffs. He smiles as he shifts his weight violently, the cart rocking back and forth with him. "Sorry, I just can't seem to find a comfortable position in here. Metal, am I right?"  
Saihara's finger squeeze the bar so tight that his knuckles begin turning white as snow. "Ouma-kun, please, this isn't funny."  
Ouma continues to rock the seat even more. "What is it? Are you afraid Saihara-chan? Is there something you want to admit to me?"  
Saihara skin is now paler than it usually is. He grips the safety bar tightly, staring at the ground in horror. "Ouma-kun, please, stop! I'm scared, okay? Please, just stop."  
Ouma rocks it once more, much more aggressively than the others. "What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."  
Saihara instantly releases a hand from the bar and grasps Ouma's arm and moves as close as he can to him, burying his face into Ouma's shoulder. "Ouma-kun! Please, stop! We're too high! This is dangerous, the cart is going to fall!"  
Finally, after what seems like forever, Ouma stops rocking the cart, chuckling. "Okay, okay. I give. Are you okay Saihara-chan?"  
But Saihara doesn't reply, only trembling as he pulls Ouma closer.  
"Wait, Saihara, are you alright?"  
The only reply Ouma recieves is a broken sob from his shoulder, followed by Saihara's grip tightening slightly. Ouma's eyes widen in realization.  
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were that scared!" Saihara's arms wrap all the way around Ouma's body and he continues sobbing, his legs pressed tightly together. Ouma awkwardly combs his fingers through Saihara's hair, attempting to soothe the detective. "Hey, it's okay Saihara-chan. We're going to be just fine. Just sit up now, okay?"  
As soon as he picks his head up, his eyes go directly to the metal beneath them, and he launches into a deeper panic, hyperventilating. "Kokichi, we're too high up. What if when you rocked the cart you loosened it? Does it feel looser? It feels looser. Kokichi, we're going to die." Tears run like waterfalls down Saihara's face as he panics, shaking Ouma wildly. It's then, when Saihara calls Ouma by his given name, does he realize how serious this is.  
Ouma is clueless to what to do, desperately trying to calm down the ranting detective. "Saihara, hey. It's okay. We're only at the top for a little longer. We'll be back on the ground before you know it."  
Saihara shakes his head frantically, as if Ouma is lying right to his face. "No, no Kokichi. I knew this would happen. We're too high."  
Ouma wraps his arms around Saihara, feeling like he needs to protect him from something that isn't really there. "Saihara... Shuuichi, it's okay. We'll be fine." Ouma almost physically slaps himself for addressing Saihara that way. By his first name? Only Momota was allowed to do that!  
However, Saihara says nothing, seeming to relax slightly, as if Ouma snapped him back into reality a tiny bit. His panic is reduced only to hyperventilating and silent sobbing. As he continues to cry, Ouma peers over the edge of the Ferris Wheel and at the ground below. They are rather high, almost fifty feet. He can see why Saihara would be so terrified, now that he really thinks about it.  
The supreme leader raises Saihara's head so that their eyes meet, and he speaks softly, trying to distract him from their situation.  
"Shuuichi, look at me. Look at my eyes Shuuichi."  
Saihara's face is flushed and his eyes are a piercing shade of red. Ouma's never seen him this bad before. He knows that there are things Saihara is scared of, but this is completely different. This is true terror he's seeing.  
"Focus on me Shuuichi," Ouma commands gently. "Don't look around, and don't look down. Everything is fine. We're not in danger, okay? This thing is going to move real soon, and we'll be right back on the ground in no time."  
Saihara nods shakily, wiping his eyes. His focus begins to stray over to the edge of the cart, but Ouma makes a choice that ultimately stops him, and possibly could ruin their friendship.  
Ouma reaches for Saihara's belt buckle and undoes it.  
Instantly, Saihara looks down and gasps, slapping Ouma's hand away. His face turns bright red. "Wh-What are you doing?!"  
Ouma shuts his eyes, knowing that he probably just lost his best friend because of this, but he knows it's going to work. Knowing this, he opens his eyes and smiles innocently. "What? Is there a problem?"  
"What do you mean?! O-Of course there's a-- Wh-Why would you--?!" Saihara can barely form a proper sentence at this point, his words tripping over themselves as if they are people in line for tickets to a rock concert. Ouma leans back against the cart and folds his arms, smiling in victory as he feels the cart suddenly begin decending. Saihara pauses his outbursts and looks around, no longer petrified. Once he sees they're moving down, he returns his gaze to Ouma, eyes wide. "You did that on purpose."  
"Of course I did," Ouma says, turning his head to face his crush. "Why would I ever do that just because? I'm not that bad, you know."  
Soon the boys are at the bottom of the ride, and the employee, who looks even more exhausted than before, raises the bar to let them out of their seat. They hop off, walking out of the way to wait for Momota and Amami to join them.  
Ouma doesn't say anything, only looking sideward at Saihara, who meets his gaze. Saihara lets out a sigh. "Thank you, Ouma-kun, for calming me down. I knew that it was a bad idea to go, and the fact that you had to deal with me--"  
"Hey," Ouma interrupts him. "Don't be like that. It's my fault you were freaking out so much. We probably would have been fine if I hadn't started shaking the cart. I was acting like a jerk."  
Saihara shrugs. "Only a little."  
Ouma is about to speak again when he sees Momota and Amami rushing over, and he quickly shuts his mouth.  
"Hey!" Momota greets the duo. "How was it? Be honest with me Ouma-kun, how much was Saihara crying?"  
Saihara glances over at Ouma, mentally accepting the embarrassment that's about to come, only to hear, "Couldn't get even one tear out of him," followed by a sigh of disappointment. Saihara has to bite his tongue to keep from showing his surprise. Ouma tends to lie, which isn't news to any one of the boys, but Saihara wasn't expecting the supreme leader to stay silent about the events that had transpired on the Ferris Wheel.  
Amami shakes his head. "Disappointing, I guess. If I'm not gonna get to see the legendary Shuuichi Saihara cry, then I'm off to find where they're keeping the cotton candy."  
Ouma raises an eyebrow. "You? Cotton candy?"  
"Amos can like cotton candy too," Amami defends.  
"Since when are you emo?"  
"Since forever. Are you guys in or not?"  
"Hell yeah," Momota chimes in.  
Saihara, however, shakes his head. "I'll meet you guys over there. I'm gonna use the bathroom first."  
"Alright," Momota grins. "We'll meet you over there. You coming Ouma-kun?"  
Ouma gazes up at the detective before nodding. "Yeah, I will in a minute. I wanna ask Saihara-chan about something."  
Amami and Momota glance at each other with suspicious looks in their eyes before chuckling, as if they're school girls who can speak through their facial expressions. The duo waves their farewells and begin their departure from under the Ferris Wheel. Once they're far enough away, mixed into the crowd of carnival visitors, Saihara turns to Ouma with a vexed expression on his face.  
"You didn't tell them the truth?" He inquires.  
Ouma shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders with a smile on his face. "What good would that do? I don't want those two to tease you for the rest of your life. You were able to do something you were afraid to do, which is the important part. Who cares about all the other minor details?"  
Saihara can feel his chest fill with warmth as the supreme leader explains himself, a rush of gratitude working its way through his veins. Ouma really is, truly, his best friend. He's the one person he can count on for anything, whatever that anything may be. He's lucky to have someone like Ouma in his life, and he knows it.  
"Hey, I was wondering," Saihara says, changing the topic of conversation, "why did you feel you had to make such a bold advancement to calm me down?"  
Ouma's face flushes, something that Saihara takes mental note of. He's never really seen the supreme leader look coy before. Ouma shrugs. "W-Well, talking wasn't really working, so I had to do something to distract you long enough for the ride to start moving again. I just did the first thing that came to mind."  
"But wait, in movies and books revolving this subject, the two usually kiss because they feel romantic feelings for each other, and thus, that's the first thing they thought of. How come the first thing you thought of--?"  
"Hey, weren't you using the bathroom or something? What ever happened to that? You should go do that, take your time, don't contract any diseases from a public bathroom. Okay, have fun!"


	4. The Music Festival Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Kaede asked Shuichi to perform on stage with her during a concert or something and he had to go to a meet and greet after because everyone loved him and thought he was pretty, so he breaks down during/after the meet?
> 
> -Prompt by my stepsister
> 
> (She told me this is based off a story she heard about a Broadway actor having a panic attack before walking out to meet the audience, so there you go!)

 

There was no denying that the four best friends were all good-looking gentlemen. Momota was being told so constantly by his co-workers at the space station that his masculine features and determined eyes were beautiful. Amami caught the eyes of strangers on the street unknowingly, especially by those of the emo community, mostly for his mysterious vibe. Even Ouma gained attention from people, the ones who weren't looking for someone manly, but someone funny and understanding when it comes to emotions. It was easy to see how they could be thought of as attractive.  
But Saihara? He’s the most attractive out of all of them. Of course, he disagrees with this statement. It's only natural that he does so, what with his low confidence and classic human nature to critique oneself. So, naturally, when he was told by the leading director of the Ongaku-sai Music Festival that a crowd was waiting for him outside of the music venue, he didn't believe it one bit.  
Saihara isn't a performer in the slightest. He only agreed to play the guitar and sing at the Ongaku-sai Music Festival with his good friend Kaede Akamatsu and her band because their guitarist had dropped out last minute. He was also familiar with the piece they were performing, not that that gave him any more confidence. Lover's Quarrel is not an easy piece either, nor is it a serious one. When he was asked to sing onstage with her and play the guitar, he was more than hesitant about saying yes. Despite how bad he believes he is, however, he agreed to get on stage with her and play and sing his heart out.  
He can't deny that he enjoyed the experience and hearing the applause that followed the end of their burlesque. It had felt amazing once he figured out that he was able to make people smile just by playing a few notes on the instrument and doing some weird things with his vocal chords. However, it is highly unlikely he will ever do it again. While he does admit that playing for everyone was enjoyable, there were way too many people for a first-time performer. Ten-thousand is not a good place to start, despite having the other six members of her band telling him it was fine.  
When Saihara agreed to play, he wasn't expecting people to like the way he sounded, or to be famous in any way after doing so. He especially wasn't expecting people to fall head over heels for him when he finished. He's a detective after all, and they aren't exactly sought out by men and women around the world. A lack in self-esteem isn't really a good help either. That's why Saihara's body instantly shut down when the leading director of the festival informed him that he had a bunch of "fangirls" waiting to get his autograph and meet him in person.  
Now he sits on a small wooden bench backstage near the stage door, elbows resting on his knees and his head dropped into his hands as he tries to assess the situation. Ouma is sitting next to him, rubbing small circles on his back, attempting to comfort him. Amami is staring at a hand of cards, and Momota is doing the same thing from the opposite side of the small table they are sitting at. A pile of makeup sits in the center of the table. Just another normal day for the two, really.  
"I don't see the problem Saihara-kun," Amami says with a shrug, not looking up at the detective. "You performed, and now you have fans who want to meet you." He tosses a lipstick into the center. "Raise."  
"But a hundred people?!" Saihara exclaims, raising his head to glare at Amami. "I played a piece, not an entire concert. I'm not even a real performer! Maybe ten people knew who I was before I played with Akamatsu-san's band, but now there are suddenly a hundred who do?!"  
"Can you blame them?" Momota asks with a smile, glancing up to look at Saihara. "Shuuichi, you're good looking, you can play music, and you can sing like a freaking god. Chicks dig that combination."  
Saihara shakes his head in disapproval at Momota's rude way of addressing women, but doesn't correct him on it, knowing the effort would be useless. "I get that, but to become this popular this fast..."  
Ouma places a hand on Saihara's knee. "Are you going to be okay going out there?"  
Saihara gives an unsure nod, staring at the floor. "I think so? It's only a hundred people, isn't it?" He suddenly realizes how condescending that sounds, and holds up a defensive hand. "Not that I'm trying to sound big-headed or anything, don't get me wrong. I've just given speeches for FBI ceremonies in the past with maybe three hundred at the most." He pauses to think it over, then nods his head, looking up at Ouma. This should be easy, shouldn't it? "Yeah, I can do this."  
"And those people are kept back with barricades," Amami adds as he flips his cards over, having finished his round with Momota. "Two of a kind, sevens and nines." He then turns back to Saihara and smiles. "With those, people won't be able to get too close to you, and you won't feel so anxious."  
A rush of comfort makes Saihara grin. Suddenly this whole ordeal doesn't sound too bad anymore. He's going to meet people who he made happy, who he made smile, and be safe while doing so. What had he been so worried about?  
"Wait, you had a pair of sevens and a pair of nines?" Momota asks, eyes wide. When Amami nods, the astronaut lays his cards on the table. "You have the same fucking hand as me!"  
Amami stares at them, a small smirk on his face. "Huh. We even have the same kicker card. What are the odds?"  
"What do we do?" Momota questions. "Have we ever tied?"  
Before the inquiry can be answered, the doors on the other side of the room blow open, revealing a disheveled Akamatsu. Her usually neatly-kept blonde hair closely resembles a bird's nest. Her clothes are twisted up like the sheets on a just-slept-in bed, and she's missing her left sock.  She has a terrified expression on her face as she moves toward them, half walking, half tripping.  
"Akamatsu-san?" Saihara questions with concern, standing up in surprise. Ouma soon follows suit. Momota and Amami look up from their card game and a shocked expression covers the former's face. "What happened to you?"  
She pauses as she is about to walk by and shakes her head, her expression remaining still as stone. She doesn't even look up at the quartet. "Th-Those girls... They're crazy about meeting you Saihara-kun... I would have guessed they were here to see that one American singer... The one with the songs all about her ex-boyfriends..." She stops, visibly shivering. "There were hundreds of them... I couldn't even make it to the main road to get to my car... There are just so many..."  
Momota blinks, and he and Amami share a questioning glance. "Wait, hundreds? Don't you mean hundred, as in only a single hundred?"  
Akamatsu continues walking like a zombie, right past Momota and Amami. As she passes Saihara and Ouma, she mumbles. "I don't know who told you that... Last the assistant director counted, there wasn't a hundred people out there... There were a thousand people."  
And with that, she leaves the hallway and walks through the set of wooden double doors, leaving the four best friends in the corridor to soak up what they were just informed. Ouma, Momota, and Amami all share nervous looks before setting their eyes on Saihara. Saihara doesn't notice this though; he's too busy trying to remain calm.  
"Shuuichi-kun?" Momota asks, taking a small step toward the detective. Amami does the same, abandoning his and Momota's game.   
"A thousand...p-people?" He echoes Akamatsu's words, almost like he doesn't believe she truly said them, that she truly meant what she said. His lungs tighten, and his face goes almost a sickly pale. His body shakes violently, and his breathing goes haywire. "Th-There are... There are a th-thousand people out there?!"  
"Saihara-kun..." Amami's voice trails off. He clearly doesn't know what to say to him. None of them do, in all honesty. What can you possibly say?  
That's when Saihara collapses, his entire body going limp. He doesn't faint, but his body just shuts off. Luckily, Ouma is there to catch him. Momota and Amami run over to help support him, sitting him down on the bench that he was on before. Instantly he curls up into a ball, bringing his legs to his chest and dropping his head into his arms.  
"A th-thousand...a thousand p-people...?" He stutters between gasps for air. "I can't...I-I can't...!" He had been worried when he heard that there were a hundred strangers out there waiting for him, but going out to see a thousand? Impossible! No chance! He would pass out after only three steps out the door!  
"We aren't sending him out there," Momota says, his voice brimming with determination. "We can take the back exit, go around the building, get in the car, and be out of here without a problem."  
Amami is quick to refute. "No way. Those people have been waiting for hours to see him. He was one of the first acts, remember." This was true. Akamatsu's band was the third performance. "They're gonna be pissed off if he doesn't go out there."  
The two continue to bicker on about how to deal with the scenario, trying to decide if they should just leave or have Saihara walk out of the building. So far, he feels like he's stuck in the middle of the argument. He wants to go out and meet the people who he made smile, who he made happy, but seeing a thousand people all at once? Especially after seeing what Akamatsu looked like? That's far too much for him to handle.  
Suddenly he hears Ouma ask, "Saihara, what do _you_ want to do?"  
"...Wh-What do I-I want to do?" Saihara mumbles, not paying much mind to the words. He's far too busy trying to bring his breathing back to normal, trying to ignore the tears spilling from his eyes.  
"Yeah," Ouma replies gently. "Do you want to leave, or do you want to stay? Don't let Momota-kun and Amami-kun choose for you. Do what you know you can handle."  
Saihara lifts his head up from his knees and meets Ouma's eyes. They're warm and inviting, and he has a bright, supportive smile on his face. This was the face that people found to be attractive on him, and Saihara could kind of see why. That, along with his understanding nature, was what drew people in.  
 _What do I want to do?_  
"W-Well," Saihara stutters, trying to keep his brain thinking rationally, "I want to go and see who's out there. They are all probably really nice people. B-But at the same time, I don't want to be bombarded with people. I just want to go to the car."  
Ouma bites his lip and his eyes narrow as if he is trying to think. Amami and Momota can still be heard arguing, but Saihara had blocked them out once they started. Within seconds, Ouma snaps his fingers, his face lighting up.  
"Got it," he says triumphantly. He turns toward Momota and Amami. "Hey, idiots. I have an idea."  
The poker-playing duo turns to look at him, cutting their fight short. Momota crosses his arms and smirks.  
"We're getting out of here, right?"  
Ouma shrugs, holding his hand up and tilting it to the side. "Kind of. What we can do is ask security to inform the crowd about Saihara's anxiety, and make sure everyone remains calm. That way, Saihara can get through a relaxed crowd and make it right to the car." He turns back to Saihara. "If you feel like you'll be fine enough to sign stuff for people, you'll be able to do that, too. Does that work for you?"  
Saihara instantly feels relief rush through his body. That's perfect. "Y-Yeah, it does. Thank you."  
Ouma laughs softly. "Don't thank me. I haven't really done anything."  
"So, we'll just go talk to security, right?" Amami confirms. "It's mostly like they'll listen to our request, unless the guard himself is rather stuck-up."  
"I'll go talk to him," Momota offers, cracking his knuckles like some sort of delinquent. "I have this charm that people can't resist, you know."  
"You also have fists," Ouma adds. "That tends to help out quite a bit."  
After a few minutes of waiting around in tense silence, the atmosphere hanging heavy, Momota returns with a victorious smile on his face. They all turn to face him, awaiting his report.  
"Good news," he announces happily. "The guards are out there right now telling the crowd what the situation is, and it seems like people are respecting your boundaries bro."  
Ouma turns back to Saihara, beaming. "That's great! Now we can get to the car just fine, right?"  
"Yeah," Saihara agrees, weakly smiling. He feels his anxiety begin to fade slowly into oblivion. "Yeah, that sounds good."  
Ouma holds out his hand for the detective, wiggling his fingers as a sign to take it. "Let's go then, yeah?"  
It takes him a moment to make it out the door, Ouma guiding him by the hand to the exit as Momota and Amami walk a few feet in front. They look gigantic, almost challenging, like royal guards outside of a castle. Would he really be okay going out there, being around so many strangers at once? He only feels better when Ouma squeezes his hand reassuringly and whispers “you’ve got this” into his ear.  
Momota and Amami push the doors open silently as Ouma releases his hand, and Saihara’s skin is kissed by the night’s cool air. Just outside the door, he sees the barricades: behind that, hundreds of people, all holding the pamphlets given at the entrance of the venue, along with their phones. Smiles grow on everyone’s faces as soon as they meet his eyes.  
Anxiety starts making its way back into Saihara’s body, and his body freezes, his gaze meeting the ground. He doesn’t know what to do, or how to act toward these people, and if he says even one thing wrong or does something they don’t like, they’re going to hate him and judge him and-  
He hears applause.  
When he looks back up, he sees people clapping, waving kindly at him with large grins on their faces. He hears combinations of “you did amazing” and “I loved your performance”, along with others politely saying hello. It’s completely different than how he had imagined it. Saihara had heard rumors of how these kinds of things went, with people trying to climb over the barricades or reaching out to touch the people in inappropriate ways, even shoving people to the ground to get closer to the performers. This wasn’t like that at all; in fact, it was quite the opposite.  
He takes a few uneasy steps towards the barricades, body shaking. A few people give him sympathetic looks, one girl saying, “It’s okay if you’re nervous Saihara-chan. We won’t do anything to make you feel worse.” A bunch of people nodded in agreement, lowering their cellphones, and simply smiling. These people aren’t like the ones he had heard about on the news. These people are kind, understanding, and accepting of his boundaries. They won’t push him to do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable with.  
Saihara smiles, and takes a few more steps forward until he is a few feet away from the barricade. If these people are going to be nice to him, he’s going to be nice in return.  
“What am I supposed to do now?” He asks sheepishly, rubbing his arm. A few girls giggle at his naiveté, and he hears a few voices tell him that he can sign the pamphlets and take pictures with the audience members if he was up for it.  
Saihara nods, reaching out a shaky hand to take a girl’s pamphlet. The girl was shorter than him, with messy brown hair and bright green eyes. She has a jade sweater on, along with a wide brown skirt. Her smile widens when he takes the marker from her and scribbles his name neatly across the side, not wanting to cover any of the words.  
She laughs and smiles. “Why didn’t you sign over the words Saihara-kun?” She asks.  
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you still want to be able to read the pamphlet?”  
A few laughs come from the crowd. Not laughs that are mocking him, not ones that are making fun of his mistakes, but ones because they thought he was enjoyable. He was trying, and that’s what made it all the better. For once, someone at the Ongaku-sai Music Festival had no idea how to meet-and-greet their fans, and it was an amusing experience.  
“Did I do it right?” Saihara asks apprehensively to no one in particular. They nod, and a few more people hold out their leaflets for him to sign. He takes them and does the same thing to each one, talking shyly to the crowd. They all make him feel welcome, like he is an actual performer. The atmosphere is something he isn’t used to, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, if he weren’t so anxious, or if he even had a shot at being a famous singer, he would want to do this again. Talking to these people, seeing their smiles, and taking pictures with them was better than he could have ever thought.  
From far off, he can see Momota and Amami talking to a few members of the audience about who-knows-what. Ouma keeps his eyes on Saihara, beaming proudly at his best friend. He’s come a long way in such a short time, and Saihara knows it too.  
“Hey, Saihara-kun,” a redhead says, leering, “is that guy your boyfriend?”  
Saihara lights up, and he accidentally drops the man’s pen behind the barrier. “Wh-What? What gave you that idea?!”  
“Oh, I saw you two holding hands as the door opened,” he replies, bending down to grab the writing utensil. As he hands it back, he says, “I was just assuming. Sorry.”  
Saihara chuckles. Is this what he sounds like on a regular basis? “It’s alright. No, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just one of my best friends.”  
“Then why was he holding your hand?” Some brunette queries, leaning in so she can hear his answer clearly.  
“I-It’s nothing serious,” he responds. “It’s just that I was really scared of coming out here, and he was trying to make me feel better.”  
After that statement, they drop the subject, instead holding out their booklets respectfully and with beams on their faces. Despite what they’re being told, the crowd is smart. They know what’s going on between Saihara and Ouma, even if neither wants to admit it. They can tell that Saihara has feelings for Ouma, even if he doesn’t know about them for himself. And from what they were just told, Ouma likes him right back, except Ouma knows how he feels. They just need to see how far in they can dig.  
“Hey, Saihara-kun,” a raven-haired girl tests, speaking in a thick German accent. “Do you have a girlfriend?”  
Saihara’s face lights up with discomfiture. “Huh?!”  
“I’m not hitting on you,” she defends. “I’m just curious. Haven’t you ever wanted to know more about a star?”  
The detective lowers his hat to hide his blush. “I-I’m not really a star,” he stutters, “and no, I don’t. I’m single.” A group of girls squeal in excitement, hearts practically forming in their eyes as the words hit their ears.   
“And those three over there are your best friends, right?” The girl continues to probe, pointing out Saihara's friends with her finger bone ring. Saihara nods as he signs another pamphlet. “Would you date any of them?”  
Saihara takes an uneasy step back, the question hitting him hard enough to drop a girl’s leaflet. “Wh-What?!” He feels his anxiety come crawling back into him. What kind of questions are these?!  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says in a voice of false contrite, a teasing smile on her face. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just curious.”  
Saihara’s mind races, taking his mind with it. What would they think if he answered? Would they think he’s a sinner? A freak? Would everyone start yelling and getting aggressive and pushy? As the thoughts enter his head, his breathing picks up its tempo, and his hands begin to shake. What would they think of him?   
Instantly, he feels someone put their hand on his shoulder, leaning toward him to whisper into his ear, “You're okay Saihara-chan. Everything is okay."  
"Come on," the girl insists. "Tell us. You're a celebrity, aren't you? Celebrities are supposed to be able to answer these kind of questions." When he doesn't answer, staying frozen as stone, the girl's face lights up with sudden aggression, and she slams her hands on the barricade. "What the fuck are you hiding, you sinning little prick?!" She yells, her accent slipping. "Just tell me if you're fucking gay already!"  
"Hey, what the hell's your problem?!" A brunette asks, turning toward the German with her arms crossed. "Who cares about that kind of stuff?"  
"The public does Princess!" The noirette retorts, leaning closer to the girl. "That's how life is! And I wanna know what kind of stuff Saihara-kun does with his friends behind closed doors!"  
Suddenly everyone is yelling, and people are starting to push each other. These are the kinds of crowds that Saihara had heard about from the news, from online stories. These were the terrifying kinds of meetings.  
The detective hears all the voices growing distant, his vision blurring and his throat clogging. _Not here. Not now!_  
He feels a hand on his shoulder, and another on his arm. There's no grip, no weight. They're just there. In his ear, he hears someone whisper, "Saihara-chan, are you okay?"  
Saihara shakes his head rapidly. "I-I want to leave," he says with a broken sob. "I-I can't..."  
He doesn't even need to finish. Within seconds, he's being pulled away from everyone, away from all the fighting and the questions, away from the security and the barricades, and he's in the backseat of Momota's car. Momota and Amami stay back a few seconds to tell security the issue, and join Ouma and Saihara. Ouma sits out back with Saihara while Amami sits in the passenger seat, and Momota sits in the driver's seat, starting the car. Saihara doesn't notice when Momota pulls out of the parking lot of the venue, or when they drive for five minutes before parking in the lot of a gas station nearby. He's far too busy staring at the ground, grasping his shaking hands tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The car just sits in heavy silence, nobody knowing what to do or what to say.   
Eventually, Amami turns around in his seat and asks, "Saihara-kun, are you alright?"  
There's no response from the detective, almost as if he didn't hear the question. The blonde is about to ask him again when he hears Saihara inhale sharply, the breath being released as sobs as tears begin streaming down his face.  
"I-I'm sorry..." He whimpers, furiously wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry. I ruined everything."  
"Hey, hey," Ouma says, placing one of his hands over Saihara's own. "You didn't do anything, okay? None of that was your fault. You did what you could, just like you said you were going to."  
"Don't blame yourself for that one girl," Momota adds, turning around in his seat. "She was trying to cause trouble for you on purpose. She was testing your limits, and then she starting flipping out on you when you stopped playing along with them."  
"B-But--"  
"Don't blame yourself," Ouma interrupts him, speaking in a calm yet firm manner. "It doesn't matter what that girl thought, or what the one behind her did, or what any of them did, okay? You did what you could, you reached your limits, and you knew when to stop. That's not a bad thing."  
"It's good, actually," Amami reassures. "You know your limits. Like Ouma-kun said, it doesn't matter what they thought. They're not always going to be here for you like we are, okay?"  
Saihara feels his heart grow warmer at his friends' kindness. They truly are the greatest people he has ever met. Despite this, however, his anxiousness isn't going to go away in the blink of an eye, not when it's this powerful. They all know it, too, and they don't mind it one bit. They all sit there in the parking lot of this gas station, each with a hand resting on Saihara's hand gently, and stay there with him the entire time he cries. They'll be there for him, no matter long it takes for him to stop, no matter how much he needs to let his anxiety out. They'll be there for him.


	5. The Street Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group was supposed to leave the hotel at three in the morning and get to train station, get on a train back to Tokyo. What happens when a street crowd interferes with the task?

There's a light knocking on the hotel door. Saihara awakens but doesn't open his eyes. More knocking follows. Hopefully whoever was outside the door would get the hint and just come in; they didn’t have to ask permission every time. “Shuuichi-kun? Shuuichi-kun, you have to get up.” Of _course_.  
“I _just_ fell asleep,” he complains, sitting up slowly and running a hand over his face.  
“I know, but we have to get ready to go.” Momota has always been kind with wakeup calls, mostly because everyone is so irritable during the morning, especially those that involve traveling. All Momota's doing is attempting to keep the peace. He's the mediator for early morning travelling. “You can sleep on the train.”  
“Fine,” Saihara mutters, pushing the covers back and climbing out of bed. All the lights are off and the sunlight peering over the nearby buildings do nothing to illuminate the space around him. The only light in the room shines from under the door from the hallway; Saihara can see Momota’s feet standing in front of the door, waiting for him. Another pair steps up quickly, Momota’s stepping to the side.  
“You can’t just- look Momota-kun, you do it like _this_.” A fist pounds the door heavily, not at all matching the high voice that follows it. “You better be down in that lobby in five minutes or I’m making you walk to Tokyo, you hear me?”  
“Alright! Alright!” Saihara yells, voice muffles as he pulled a shirt over his head. “I’ll be there. Calm down.”  
“Five minutes,” they repeat, their feet stepping away and leaving Momota again.  
He's only been awake for less than a minute and he's already being rushed. He understands they all have a schedule and can’t just waste time, but being rushed when he barely has both eyes open makes him feel like everything is out of his control; he’d never keep up. Not a good way to start a 20-hour day.  
Since Saihara had fallen asleep right as he got to his room the night before, what with all the investigating he had to partake in during his last day in Nagoya, he has very little packing to finish before he can zip up his bag and throw it over his shoulder. Lastly, he grabs his hat and reaches for the door. The light from the hallway stings his eyes as he swings the door open. He squints and attempts to offer a smile to Momota, who's leaning in the doorway of the hotel room door, a pleasant smile on his own face.  
“Good morning.” He's too chipper. Saihara’s smile falls into a grimace.  
“Why are we traveling this early?” Saihara replies, shutting the door gently behind him and pushing his hat onto his head. “I’m exhausted.”  
“You and me both,” Momota sighs, letting honesty slip through his bright tone. “But once we’re on the train, we can go back to sleep.” He places an arm around Saihara and pulls him to his side, promising him what is only a few minutes away.  
Saihara rests his tired head on Momota’s shoulder and walks beside him to the elevator. Their lack of motion as they wait for the moving room is almost enough to send Saihara back to sleep, his eyes sinking closed as the doors opens. He steps forward blindly, letting Momota guide him forward. The elevator falls back down six floors and Saihara shakes himself awake as it slows and beeps upon reaching the lobby. The doors open and the two of them step back out, Momota’s hand squeezing Saihara’s shoulder as Ouma’s voice bounces around the high ceiling of the lobby.  
“Ah, perfect. A minute early," he says, the sarcasm evident in his voice. "Blessed with your presence.” He claps and the sound echoes through the air like thunder, Saihara wincing at each rumble in his bones. He's here, so Saihara doesn’t get why there has to be a constant timer. He's here and it's fine. Everyone will get to the station, get on the train, and the timer can slow down; there isn’t much he can do but sit and wait. Waiting can’t be controlled. Then again, Ouma is the most irritable out of all of them in the morning, and if someone's going to complain about something like waiting at three in the morning, it's going to be Ouma.  
“Sorry,” Saihara says quietly, hoisting the straps over his shoulders higher and finding his place beside Amami, and still beside Momota, in their small group. Saihara stands there idlely, nodding his head without thought as Ouma debriefs them on their plans for the day.  
“-about a twelve-hour drive, so don’t ask me when we’ll be there, alright? Now, the train station is a few blocks away, but you should be able to see it from here. _Don’t_ get lost.”  
“It’s three in the morning,” Amami states. “Where could we possibly go?”  
“I have to check you out, so just don’t do anything stupid until I catchup,” Ouma rephrases, allowing a laugh to echo in the lobby. “Deal?”  
“Deal,” they all respond monotonously, nodding and heading for the doors.  
As they approach the frosted glass doors, a shuffling dark mass begins to grow behind it. Saihara can _feel_ it moving, rumbling just outside the door. Saihara is first to reach the door, but he steps back, something in his stomach twisting at the palatable voices coming through to them. Figures can, without a doubt, be seen through the door, the mass suddenly gaining a collaborative voice, muffled shouts attempting to reach them. Saihara can’t count visually, but he can hear more people than he could ever care to imagine. He steps back from the door and out of Momota’s reach.  
“I can’t go out there,” He breathes, his eyes fixed on where the two doors meet, handles even with one another. He watches it with the prayer that neither door moves, that the mass will stay on the outside. “I can’t.” They all stood around the door awkwardly, Saihara stepping out of the eyesight of the _creature’s_ thousand eyes.  
“What are you doing?” Ouma calls from the desk. “Just go out.”  
“We can’t,” Momota  replies, gesturing to the door and then at Saihara. The detective grips his bag straps tightly, the coarse fabric rubbing against the palms of his hands. It stings like crazy, but he doesn't stop. He envisions himself standing perfectly still, about to move out the door, but his feet are cemented to the floor and his hands tremble like crazy.  
“We don’t have time to wait it out,” Ouma replies, ghosting an apology. “I saw the crowd earlier, it’s maybe ten or fifteen people. That one famous singer chick, Maizono-san, is staying here. They just want to meet her. They don't care if you're here It’s fine. I’ll be right behind you.”  
“No,” Saihara mutters, the word escaping before he can think it over, before he can alter the word into a sentence that would be more presentable. “No.”  
“Saihara-chan, we don’t have time-”  
“Ouma-kun, don’t. I can do this.” Amami holds a hand up to the voices beyond them. He places a hand on Saihara’s trembling shoulder, his fingers the only thing touching him; no grip, no pressure, no captivity. “Hey, you’re okay.” Saihara shakes his head mutely. The monster outside the door was rapidly increasing in size, the rumble of its voice making Saihara shudder, a quiet whine rising in his throat as he goes to speak. “You can do it. We’ll be with you the whole time. It's only a few blocks away.” Surely the monster can move faster than they can. “You can do this.” Amami lifts his hand from Saihara’s shoulder and lets it hang down by his side. Saihara grips it without thinking, instinct taking over. “Okay?” Amami asks softly. Saihara nods quickly, hoping to convince himself.  
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He steps forward slowly, watching Amami’s hand reach for the door. The wave of noise rushes in through the small crack in the door, the force knocking the wind out of his chest. Taking another full breath feels impossible as he creeps closer. The chatter grows louder and into a full roar as the door fully opens. There are more than fifteen people. Way more. Saihara releases Amami's hand and turns around to quickly look at Ouma, wanting to confirm that all the screaming faces and hastily moving hands are actually there and not just a figment of his imagination. The stunned expression consuming Ouma’s face is all Saihara needs to see. He knows it's real. That doesn’t make it any better though. It doesn’t quiet the wave of sound that crashes over them, blocking out the sounds of the city and even the sounds of their own voices. All Saihara can hear was the screaming sounds of Sayaka Maizono's name.  
“Oh my God! Hey, where's Maizono-san?! Where's Maizono-san?!” It seems like every person is speaking to him at once, slips of paper and shaking hands reaching out to grab him as a way to gain information regarding the female pop sensation. Saihara is about to take a step back when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder; Ouma.  
“Come on. We’re on a schedule.”  
There goes time, as well as Saihara’s control. He has no say in the matter. He has to walk into the crowd without any moment’s notice. His hands are shaking, his feet are unsteady, his breathing is shallow and impossibly short, and his nose begins to sting, his eyes watering involuntarily. _No no no no. Not here_. He reaches down and grasps ahold of Ouma's hand anxiously.  
“Ouma-” Saihara’s voice is drowned out by the rise in yelled-out questions as they begin to walk forward. Amami goes first, grinning at the people that stop him, but vaguely points down the street, explaining their lack of details on the singer they're hunting down. Saihara stays close to Ouma’s side, following his lead. As Saihara leaves the safe distance of the hotel doors, he notices an important part missing to this scene: the security. There's nothing and nobody holding them back. The mass is able to change and reform as they move down the sidewalk; it isn’t contained. It isn’t controlled.  
Saihara barely makes it out from under the awning when there's a foreign hand on him. It's light, just trying to get his attention, tapping his arm quickly and slowly wrapping around the fabric of his sleeve. He turns to look at them, twisting his face into a false smile as he attempts to pull his arm out of reach. He goes to do the same as Amami, explain the situation and get away from them quickly and quietly, but as he raises his one free hand, another hand grabs it. A hand emerges from the mass and grips his hand without mercy, their fingers curling around his shaking hand and testing the strength Saihara no longer had, digging their finger nails into his skin.  
Suddenly, his shoulders are bumping against someone other than Ouma's, the mass moving around to block off the door behind him. Saihara tries to tug his hand from the mass, but as he releases Ouma’s hand to push the other hand off him, someone slips beside him. He can no longer could see Ouma or the door or the sidewalk or even his hands in front of his face. As he finally yanks his hand free, another person grabbing his shoulder to hold him closely, hoping to hear where Maizono is. Saihara tries to answer, but the grip is squeezing him into the girl’s side, crushing his ribcage and pushing all his breath out in a muted call for help.  
“Ou-”  
“Saihara-chan!” Ouma shouts, somehow hearing him or just instinctively knowing. “Saihara! Hey, don’t crowd him!” The crowd around Saihara moves oddly, suddenly bumping into him harshly, some foreign body rearranging them. “Hey, I'm here!"  
Saihara tries to find Ouma in the horrific swarm of face, but finds that the thickness of the crowd mixed with the tears blurring his vision give him no clarity. He didn’t even notice he's crying until each attempt at a breath comes out in a shuddering sob, his hands going up to cover his face, and attempting to cover all of theirs too.  
“Hey, back up!” Saihara feels a strong hand grab onto his shoulder, tugging on it sharply and causing his hands to fall from his face. They attempt to pull on his straps and slide the bag off of the detective's shoulder. “Shuuichi-kun, come on! Let’s go.” It takes him a moment to recognize Momota, even as he turns to look at him. Saihara lets himself be pulled backwards. Even in his clouded vision, he canthe crowd shrinking behind him, causing him to finally gasp for air. The breath makes his chest swell, but everything else collapse once he lets it out.  
Ouma grabs him first, gently resting a hand on his back. “Hey! Come on, I’ve got you. You’re almost there. See? The train station is right there.” Ouma's pointing, but Saihara’s head is hanging down, staring at his feet. The sidewalk passes under him, proof that he's moving. Each step is safe. He listens to his, Ouma’s, and Momota’s footsteps lead him on a calming loop. _One two three. One two three_. “You’re almost there.” _One two three. One two three. One two. One._ “We’re here. You made it. It's all good. No one else but us.” Ouma’s hand rubs circles on his back slowly, trying to give Saihara a soothing pattern that matched his subtle rocking.  
Saihara forces himself to look up, only to see three faces crowding around him, hands and arms out to him, offering support and comfort. He doesn’t look at them, however. Instead, he lowers his head again and starts for the entrance of the station, crossing his arms and gripping at his skin as he enters. A hand grips his backpack again, but he just lets himself slip out of it, walking through the glass doors and disappearing into the unbusy station. He glances around and sees a sign for the bathrooms, walking over to them with uneasy steps. He doesn't turn the lights on when he enters, pressing a hand lightly to the wall so he can manuver his way around the small space. When he reache the opposing wall, Saihara sits down and leans his he back against the wall, taking the filth of the bathroom into no consideration. He stays there, pressing the heels of his palms against his watery eyes.  
“Saihara-chan?” He would've preferred to be in silence, but he doesn't ask the voice to leave. “Saihara, can I come in?” He mumbles in response, the sound being the only thing guiding Ouma to him through the dark. “I can’t really see you that well, Saihara-chan. Can you hold out your hand?” Saihara keeps his eyes clenched closed, but lets one hand reach into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone, turning it on and placing it on the floor next to him. He can see the light despite his eyes being shut, the illumination disturbing the blanket of darkness wrapping around him. “The floor? Saihara, you gotta start finding more comfortable places to recharge. It’ll probably make you feel better.” His tone is both serious and secure, his arm grazing Saihara’s as he sits down beside him. He makes sure his own movements can be felt, letting Saihara know what Ouma's doing without having to remove his hands from his face.  
“I didn’t like that,” Saihara says weakly.  
“I know,” Ouma sighs, sounding inconsolably remorseful. “I know. I’m sorry I was rushing you, that I wasn't taking your feelings into consideration. We all thought the crowd was smaller than it actually was. I didn’t know it was that large.” Saihara winces, the thought of all of those people circling him and surrounding him sending a chill down his spine. It’s a miracle he made it out. He could have been trapped, crushed, trampled- “I’m sorry, Saihara-chan. But hey, you won’t have to deal with anyone else for the next twelve hours. You can go back to sleep on the train, right?” Ouma brushes Saihara’s hair back from his forehead lightly, his fingers barely touching his skin. “That's what you want to do, right?”  
Saihara doesn’t come up with much of a response. He keeps his hands over his eyes, trying to erase everything he had just seen, forgetting the bumping, pushing, grabbing. He doesn't reply, don't move in any way, but Ouma doesn’t get up or leave him. Saihara somehow always does that, yet Ouma always stays.  
“You’ve had a long day already, and you need to get some rest,” Ouma continues, placing a hand on Saihara’s knee and shaking it with a slow rhythm. “Neither of us are morning people, huh?” the jingling of Saihara's ringtone sounds through the bathroom, and Saihara rests his forehead against his knees and against Ouma’s hand as he groans.  
“I’m really tired,” Saihara admits, turning his head and letting himself open his eyes to look at Ouma. “Can’t I go back to sleep?”  
“That sounds like a great idea.” Ouma smiles, nodding and placing his other arm around Saihara’s shoulders. Despite having suggested the idea originally, Ouma doesn't say anything. Ouma glances down and denies the call, seeing the number is from an early-morning telemarketer. “But not here in a train station bathroom. Come on, I’ll help you up.”  
“I don’t want to get up,” Saihara argues, looking at Ouma through half-lidded eyes. Everything has been rushing past him, but it finally slows down, thus bringing Saihara down to an unavoidable and unbearable level of fatigue. “I can’t.”  
“You just want to stay here, on the floor?” Ouma clarifies, turning his head to look at the detective curiously. Saihara blinks slowly, his eyes fighting to open again. “Okay. We’ll stay here. We won’t move.”  
Ouma stretches his legs out and rests one foot on top of the other, settling into the wall and letting Saihara settle in his side. He places his hands back over his eyes and leans his head against Ouma’s chest, the two comforts allowing Saihara to breathe slowly, the air coming out gently, though still a little heavy.   
“You go to sleep. I’ll be here the whole time.” Ouma promises. “But know that I have to wake you up when we get ready to get on the train.”  
Saihara nods, a tiny smile forming on his face. Ouma always assures Saihara there isn’t any more danger. Saihara's still waiting for the day it finally wasn't true, that Ouma would get up and leave him behind, but Ouma seems to be set on keeping his promise; Ouma is always there, anytime Saihara needs him. Always there with just the right words and arms that Saihara can fall into.


	6. The Restaurant Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Um, if you need prompts, I guess... maybe the boys take Shuichi out to eat together (restaurant or pizza-place or something)?" -Prompt by Nububu
> 
> I'm gonna change it a little, if you don't mind. Thank you for the idea!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so some people have mentioned to me that they made fan art for my writing?! That's so sweet! I didn't think that my writing was that good, and now to have art of it? You guys really are the best! If you want to send me your art, then here are some ways to do so:
> 
> Devianart: I don't have one, but if you link me the drawing, I'll check it out!  
> Instagram: Follow me @izzisananchor and dm me the picture!  
> Email: Email me at detective.maam@gmail.com and I'll share them here!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the support that you show me! I love you guys to the moon and back!

They were supposed to meet for lunch an hour ago; lateness was not a trait Ouma typically associated with Saihara. Sure, distraction that lead to the occasional late arrival was expected, but has Saihara never blatantly made Ouma wait. After all, time is something that Saihara is able to manage better than most people. With this logic in his mind, he decides that Saihara probably has a good excuse as to why he's late. That doesn't mean he can't be frustrated about it, however.  
Ouma is standing outside of one of his favorite lunch places, leaning up against the fence that wraps around the outdoor seating area. The host asks him for a forth time if he's sure he wants to continue waiting for his dining partner. Surely Ouma's pointed glare is good enough of an answer for an answer.  
Ouma checks his phone again, hoping to see a message from Saihara. The last message between the two of them was Ouma saying he was on his way earlier that afternoon. Ouma begins to draft a new text, finger hovering over the keys as he totters between which kind of approach he wants to take. Ouma decides to only send Saihara’s name, so the lost detective can hear it in the same flat and irritated tone Ouma has prepared at the tip of his tongue. Just as he presses send, his own name emerges from a group of people walking down the street.  
“Ouma-kun!” Saihara waves his arm above their heads as he tries to squeeze past them and get over to him.  
“Thanks for showing up,” Ouma says flatly, crossing his arms. “Where have you been this whole time?”  
“I'm sorry, I-I got hung up. A bunch of people were at case debriefing. It was only supposed to be a few,” Saihara mutters, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks exhausted. “I got caught up in the conversation.” Which means that Saihara got stuck in a long discussion on the victims that he was guilt-tripped into being apart of.  
Ouma immediately softens his heavy glare, trying to take weight off Saihara’s sagging shoulders. “It’s fine. I was just worried where you went. You didn't even call, you know?”  
“I'm sorry," he repeats. "I was in that debriefing for three hours." The word "debriefing" comes out sarcastic and bitter. "And then I got stuck in the parking lot. And then traffic. And then this parking lot.” Saihara looks at Ouma with apologetic eyes. “I’m so tired. Please don't take any offense to my tardiness.” Saihara isn't what you'd call a social butterfly, but he's still a reasonably open person. Despite this, Ouma knows that there are some days that wear him down like crazy—and almost four hours of constant communication and socialization is bound to be one of these days.  
“That’s okay!” Ouma places an arm around him, trying to give him something to lean against or somewhere to rest for the first time today. “Do you want to go somewhere else? We don’t have to eat here. We can go back to the apartment and just relax. We can watch movies and stuff, if you want.”  
“No, that’s okay. This is fine.” Saihara waves the option away with a weak hand and approaches the host. The woman looks between the two of them, obviously surprised that Ouma’s companion has finally shown up.  
They're seated by the wall, the rest of the restaurant stretching out beside them. Ouma rests his elbows on the table as he looks at the menu, while Saihara leans against the wall, seemingly hugging it as his eyes continuously dart from the table to the other people around them.  
“Saihara-chan, are you sure you’re okay?” Saihara’s menu is upside down and he doesn’t even seem to notice it. “We can leave, if you want to.”  
“No. No it’s fine… Just let me… uh…” Saihara fiddles with his menu absently, turning it around on his placemat. “I can do this.”  
“Okay. If you say so,” Ouma sighs, averting his eyes back to the menu.  
As Ouma looks at the menu, deciding what to order, a woman approaches the table, a pad of paper tapping against her leg as she walks. Ouma turns to greet her with a smile, knowing that she's the waitress, but Saihara refuses to look up, his eyes suddenly cemented to his fingers tracing the menu’s corner.  
“Hi, I’m Toujou-san and I’ll be your waitress. Can I start you  boys off with something to drink?” She asks only Ouma, seeing as though Saihara is attempting to remove himself from the scene.  
“Just water for me, thanks.” Ouma answers, smiling at Toujou. They both turn to look at Saihara, who appears to be trying to memorize the menu. “…and one for him too, actually. Thank you.” Toujou nods shortly and turns away from the table without question. As she walks away, Saihara’s eyes expand their range and begin staring at the hand Ouma has placed on the table, which is reaching out to the detective. “Saihara-chan, we can go.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“You couldn’t even look at her Saihara-chan.”  
“Our waitress was a woman?” Saihara asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he finally looks out over the other tables.  
“That’s it. Get your jacket back on. We’re going,” Ouma says firmly, pushing his chair back.  
“No!” Saihara grabs Ouma’s hand tightly, trying to tug him back into his chair. “I already made you wait. The least I can do it let you eat. You love this place.”  
“I do, and that's because we come here together to eat. This place means nothing to me if you aren’t going to enjoy it, Saihara-chan. Really, I want to go. Let’s go back to my place and I’ll make you something. We can just relax, okay?” Ouma holds onto Saihara’s hand as he walks around to Saihara’s side of the table, leaning down to be eye-level with him. “Let me go find our waitress and we can go, okay?” Ouma smiles and squeezes Saihara’s hand before releasing it and walking the same way he saw Toujou disappear.  
“Can I help you?” The host is standing beside a group of waitresses, confused by Ouma’s sudden reappearance.  
“Is Toujou-san here?” Ouma sees a hand raise from the back of the group, emerging from the kitchen doors. “Hi there. I’m so sorry, but we need to take off.”  
“That’s alright.” She nods with understanding, her plastered-on smile fading into a genuine one. She peers over Ouma’s shoulder, presumably at Saihara. “I understand.”  
“Let me pay for the hassle, please,” Ouma says, but Toujou waves him off with a quick flip of her hand. “No, really. I would feel awful if I just—”  
“No, really,” She echoes, her hand lifting to follow her eye-sight. “I think that will be more of a hassle. It was a pleasure to serve you.”  
Ouma whips around to look back at his table. Saihara has stood up from his chair, but hasn’t taken a step away from the wall. His shoulder is resting against it as a woman stands next to him, speaking animatedly, a monotone expression on her face. The girl means no harm, but Saihara is all but hoping the wall swallows him up; his eyes are wide and focusing on some empty space between him and the floor, the words pooling around him and slowly drowning him. Ouma walks over quickly, ducking under a serving tray to reach Saihara before the girl touch his shoulder—socialness is a risky business.  
“Saihara-chan!” Ouma grins. He places a slow hand on Saihara’s back, trying to stir him awake. “Ready to go?”  
“Saihara-chan,” the woman echoes, bringing a gloved hand to her chin. “I recognize that name.”  
“I’m sure you do, but we’ve got to get going. If you remember, let us know.” Ouma responds shortly, flashing a pained smile before trying to lead Saihara away.  
“By any chance, do you work with the police, on the PN-43 case?” she continues, stepping towards the duo. Saihara makes a quiet noise of panic and shifts his weight from the wall to Ouma.  
“Hey, can you please back up?” Ouma says firmly, holding a hand out. “It doesn't matter what we do or who we are. So please, leave us alone.” Ouma’s tone grows increasingly sharper as Saihara’s nails dig into his hand.  
“I don’t know who you are, sir,” the woman replies with a sigh. “Only him.”  
“Well, then it will do me no harm to say that you need to leave him alone. He doesn’t want to talk.” Ouma turns his attention back to Saihara and notices that he's starting to stare at the door. “We have to go. Thanks for great company.”  
“But he doesn't seem okay, and as a fellow detective on the case, I--"  
“I'm sorry, but we're done here.” Ouma mutters, wrapping an arm around Saihara and walking him through the front doors. The woman stayed inside, but Saihara’s jittery nerves follows them out of the restaurant.  
Ouma loosens his grip and slides his hand down to just hold Saihara’s own, not wanting to make him feel trapped against his side. Saihara walks slowly, each step taking him through a world that's moving far too fast for him to handle. Ouma follows patiently, looking around to try and show that things are moving at the exact same pace as them—Saihara never notices. Once they step past the entrance to the small plaza and start for the parking lot, Ouma steers Saihara in the right direction, guiding him gently through the maze of cars.  
Ouma had parked the closest, and therefore leads Saihara to his car, unlocking the passenger door and helping him climb in before walking around to get to the driver’s side. He opens the door and is faced with Saihara, already upset, head resting in his hands. Ouma rushes in and shuts the door as quickly but as quietly as he can.  
“No, no, no. What’s wrong? You’re okay.” Ouma whispers, reaching over to place a hand on his back, trying to soothe him.  
“I’m sorry.” Saihara’s voice cracks as he hiccups into his hands. “I’m a horrible person.”  
“No, you’re not! It’s okay, really. I’d actually prefer being at home anyway.” Ouma tries to move closer to Saihara, but can only stretch his arm so far. “Saihara-chan, it’s okay, I promise.”  
“I’m just—I’m sorry. I ruined everything.” Saihara mumbles. His hands fall away from his face to scratch nervously on his wrists.  
“No, you didn't. My plan was to hang out with you today, and I will still be doing that,” Ouma laughs, leaning over farther to place his hands on Saihara's, trying to prevent the detective from scraping his skin open. “You are the only thing I was looking forward to today, and I still am.”  
“You don’t have to just say that.” Saihara sniffles, looking over at him. His red and puffy eyes always make Ouma’s stomach twist; Saihara feels responsible every time he can’t keep the flood from overwhelming him.  
“No, I mean it. Really. I love spending time with you Saihara-chan. I don’t care if we have to do it there, or in the apartment, or here in this stupid parking lot. I get to see you and hang out with you, and that’s all I could really ask for.” Ouma runs a hand through Saihara’s hair and smoothes down the stray pieces frazzled in their own way. "You're my best friend, remember?”  
Saihara laughs wetly, a short sob escaping afterward. “I remember.”  
“Then believe me.” Ouma lets his hand rest, cupping the side of Saihara’s face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And now, you’re fine. No one is going to bother you anymore today. You can relax, okay? I’ve got you.”  
Saihara leans against Ouma’s hand and sighed. “You really are a wonderful person Ouma-kun.” He places his own hand over Ouma’s. “Thank you.”  
“You know I’d do anything for you.” Ouma promises. Saihara tries to smile back at him. His eyes are still red and his cheeks are still wet, but the smile lifting them is genuine. Ouma hasn’t quite figured out how to prevent the flooding—the breaking, the destruction, the helplessness he felt—but he knows how to repair it, little by little. All four hands, both his and Saihara's, working to build a stronger wall this next time around. It doesn’t matter how long it will last, because Ouma will never run out of willingness to help.


	7. The Dog Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS THOUGHT I WAS GONE? NAH MY DUDES, I'M ALIVE AND WRITING A TON OF RANDOM STUFF
> 
> But the thing is, please don't get High Hopes for this story. This was once a story that I was able to write day after day, but eventually, I moved on to other things. Life is busy. It will be weeks, maybe months before I feel I can update again.
> 
> Anyways! The prompt:
> 
> "What if after a particularly bad anxiety attack from Saihara the other three decide to get him a therapy animal, like a dog, cat, or rabbit, with the assistance of our favorite animal breeder who probably has experience with these sorts of cases? This could be an aftermath to one of the other requests, I just want to help our poor little anxious baby to have the physical reassurance of a sweet and fluffy animal who is trained to not only comfort him when he is having an anxiety attack but to also notice and give a warning before one is about to happen." ~A Cross of Fire
> 
> Sooooo I'm sure y'all know by now that I take the rough idea of a prompt and COMPLETELY DESTROY IT WITH SORRY AND FEELINGS I GET FROM MY INNER EMO ANGSTINESS!!!!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

That day when Saihara returned home to his apartment, the last thing he was expecting was to see an extra living thing in the living room. It normally wouldn’t be a problem with him; Momota brings in strangers all the time. All four of them live here, and there are really no rules about what is and isn’t allowed in the apartment. However, the last thing he was expecting to be in his home was a  _ dog _ .

As he had walked into the apartment, he had heard a loud growl come from somewhere. Saihara had paused, startled by the noise, but let it go, assuming it was probably a dog walking by with his owner outside. When he walked into his living room and actually saw a golden retriever sitting there, Ouma, Amami, and Momota smiling with large grins on their faces, he could have passed out then and there.

“Saihara-chan!” Ouma calls, jumping with joy as if he’s a child. “Momota-kun found a stray dog outside of the apartment building while he and Amami were playing cards.”

The word “stray” lingers with Saihara in a way he doesn’t like at all. His bag falls to the floor next to him. “A-And you brought it in here?”

“Well, duh!” Momota replies, acting as if this is a completely normal situation. “What would you have done? Left him out on the street?”

Saihara is about to agree with Momota but decides not to. Doing so would not only make him seem like a heartless jerk but also reveal his rather embarrassing fear of canines. It’s not a fear that the detective can explain, either. He probably heard some kind of tall tale from his uncle when he was a kid, and that’s why he fears the creatures so much today, but he can’t remember exactly what he was told or when he was told it. No matter the time or date of when the fear manifested, it didn’t change the circumstance: Saihara has an uneasy feeling around dogs, and there is one in his apartment.

“N-No, of course not,” Saihara lies, taking a small step back from the animal. “It’s just--” He stops when he notices that the dog has a red collar. Not one with a name tag on it, but one with a label: service. “This is…a service dog?”

Amami nods. “Yeah, I guess he had gotten out or something. The whole situation was kind of strange. When we found him and saw the collar, Momota-kun remembered hearing that some service dogs can help with anxiety.” Instantly, Saihara sees what they’re trying to do, and he would feel more grateful for his friends thinking of him and trying to help if there wasn’t a dog in the room.

“We dug around on the web a little,” Momota continues, “and found out that into the coloring system of collars, red collars are worn by dogs who provide emotional support.”

“So, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to have him stay here and be yours!” Ouma finishes, smiling proudly.

Saihara feels bile rising to the back of his throat, swallowing quickly to avoid anything from happening. “Th-That’s really nice of you,” Saihara says, trying to show his gratitude, “but you said you found this dog, right? Doesn’t it belong to someone?”

“We thought about that, too,” Amami replies. “We went to the national service dog website and it provided a list of dogs and their statuses. We found his number and it said that he wasn’t assigned to a person.” He shrugged. “The page is bookmarked, so if we want to email them and request him--”

“No!” Saihara interrupts, waving his hands wildly. The three boys look at him strangely, trying to figure out the reason behind the detective’s sudden outburst. Once realizing what he’s said, he clears his throat weakly, voice shaking. “I-I mean, do we even have room for a dog?”

“This apartment is massive Saihara-chan,” Ouma points out. “We have an empty room near the kitchen. We can keep him there.”

It irritates the detective how much his friends thought ahead on this. Saihara is about to come up with some other excuse as to why they can’t keep the retriever in the house, but before he can, he sees the dog stand up and tilt his head as if he’s staring in Saihara’s soul. Saihara takes another step back and holds up a defensive hand. “Wh-What is it doing?”

Amami looks down at the dog for a few seconds, then back up at Saihara. “Saihara-kun, are you…nervous?”

Saihara takes another cautious step back. “N-No, I’m fine,” he protests, stammering over his words. “I don’t have anything to be nervous about, do I? It’s just a dog. I’m fine.”

Just as the words pour out of his mouth, the golden retriever runs over to Saihara, tongue hanging wildly out of his mouth. Saihara lets out a rather unmanly shriek, tripping over his feet as he tries to stumble away, sending his body falling to the floor. The dog slows down and walks up to him, a concerned expression on his face. Saihara backpedals until his back hits the wall behind him. There's nowhere else to go. Nowhere for him to run. 

“G-Get it away from me!” Saihara cries, holding out a defensive hand. “I-It's gonna kill me!”

He hears Momota laugh. “Kill? Shuuichi-kun, what are you talking about? He's a service dog. He won't kill.”

The golden retriever pushes his nose against Saihara’s rapidly-trembling hand, seeming to want to give the anxious detective some sort of feeling of tranquility, only to be ineffective. Saihara’s breathing increases its rate until he's hyperventilating, his entire body shaking with terror. 

“Saihara-kun, I don't see why you're so dead set on this,” Amami says, sounding confused. “He's a golden retriever. He won't hurt you.”

When no reply comes from the noiret, when his breathing seems to only speed up, Ouma realizes what's going on.

“Guys, I don't think he's joking,” Ouma says with alarm, rushing over to Saihara's side. He crouches down to place a gentle hand, one with no pressure, no force, onto the petrified Saihara's shoulder. Ouma almost gasps at how much he's trembling, feeling Saihara's body move in a broken rhythm as he breathes wildly.

“Hey, you're okay,” Ouma says, his voice soft and understanding. “You're safe.  The dog won't hurt you.” He looks up to see Momota grabbing ahold of the retriever’s collar and pulling him away, bringing him towards Amami. 

“Shuuichi-kun, what's going on?” Momota asks the expression he wears being concerned and deeply troubled.  

Before Saihara can come up with any kind of excuse (although, right now this would be deemed impossible), Amami answers for him. “Cynophobia, perhaps?”

Everyone appears to freeze, even the horrified detective. His face reddens with embarrassment, but he doesn't bother trying to lie his way around the truth, especially when that truth is so painfully obvious. 

“What now?” Momota asks. His eyebrows furrow. “I heard “phobia" in there. What did you say?”

Amami doesn't directly answer Momota. Instead, he walks towards Saihara with careful steps and ends up on the right side of him, crouching down so that they are more at an even height level. Amami places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Saihara-kun, why didn't you just say you were scared? Being afraid of dogs isn't a bad thing. It's more normal than you believe.”

“Wait, you're afraid of dogs?” Momota finally pieces together, his expression changing from confused to guilty. His pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, keeping a tight grip on the retriever’s collar. “You're afraid of dogs, and I brought one in the house. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You couldn't have known, Momota-kun,” Ouma argues, trying to reassure the astronaut. “Don't put the blame on yourself.”

Momota sighs, seeming to accept Ouma’s proposal. His eyes lock onto Saihara, who is slowly calming down. His shaking has slowed, and his breathing has returned to a less erratic state. “So, what do we do?” Momota queries. “Bring him back to the shelter?”

Saihara looks up and meets Momota’s eyes. The detective's eyes hold conflicting emotions in them; the looks of “I want it away from me” and “I want to keep it” fighting for dominance in his body.

“We should keep him regardless,” Amami says with conviction. “He’s a service dog. Despite Saihara-kun’s nervousness, having him around will be good for us.”

“But it's not gonna be any good for Shuuichi-kun if he's afraid,” Momota debates. He reaches a hand down and ruffles the soft golden hair of the dog. “That was why we did all of that research, remember. They aren't much help if the owner can't be near him.”

Saihara blinks, extending his legs out a little from his chest. “You guys did that research for  _ me _ ?”

Ouma nods. He turns his back to the wall and falls against it, stretching his legs out so that he's now sitting next to Saihara. “Of course we did. We don't know what anxiety is like, or how it feels. We just know that we don't want you to be nervous all the time.”

A sheepish smile grows on Saihara's face. “That's… Thank you, Ouma-kun.” He looks up at the other two boys standing before him. “Thank you, Momota-kun, Amami-kun.”

Momota grins. “So, what does that mean now? What're we gonna do with him?” he glances down at the dog, who is sitting on the floor, looking at Saihara with curiosity and joy in his eyes. 

Saihara can't help but feel nervous just laying eyes on the animal. Its size, its power, its teeth, its claws. How can anyone just be okay with them? Despite the distress pooling in his stomach, Saihara straightens out his back a little, bringing his legs in to sit criss-cross. He reaches one hand down to grasp Ouma's hand, palm to back, his own hand shaking slightly. After a few seconds of contemplation and deep breathes, he reaches his other hand out gently. The dog tilts his head, seemingly confused. He then approaches Saihara's wavering hand, rubbing his snout against the detective's palm. 

Saihara's entire body tenses, and his hand grips tighter around Ouma’s hand. Ouma turns his hand over so that their palms are touching and intertwines their fingers. He rubs his thumb gently across the detective’s skin, trying to ease away any remaining worry that may be lingering.

“Hey,” Saihara says after a moment. “He’s not that bad.” His hand drags across the dog’s fur and to his neck, where Saihara rubs his hand in smooth, even strokes. The retriever’s tail wags and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. His rubs the side of his head against Saihara’s arm.

“How do you do this stuff so easily?” Momota exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You just had a freak out over him, and now your sign-that phobia is basically non-existent! What kind of occult shit are you pulling?”

“It’s Cynophobia,” Amami corrects, “and it is kind of strange, now that you mention it. It’s almost like a really bad story plot.”

“What do you mean?” Ouma asks.

Amami shrugs. “The plot can’t move that fast. That'd just be poor writing on the author's part.” He appears to look off into the distance as if he’s watching someone. “This all feels very…rushed. I don’t know, it just feels likes someone is making our lives move along really damn fast, you know?”

“No!” Momota yells, walking out of the room. “I’m not dealing with any sort of occult or sorcery or whatever bullshit you’re suggesting is present.”

From across the house, the trio hears the sound of a door shut. Saihara rolls his eyes and stares at the creature before him, the one with hairs of gold and eyes of happiness. “Goruden.”

“Goruden?” Ouma repeats, reaching out a hand to pet the dog. “Is that what you’re calling him?”

“Yeah,” Saihara replies, scratching the mammal behind its ears, receiving plenty of tail wags in response. “I know that its a rather boring name for a golden retriever, but I see the name as describing the dog’s personality rather than its fur color.”

“Wait,” Amami interjects. “So we’re keeping the dog?”

“Of course,” Saihara says, smiling. “Why wouldn’t we? It’s already attached to me, isn’t it?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any suggestions for prompts, send them my way! I need inspiration for writing about Saihara's misery. Thanks for reading!


End file.
